Never Forget
by TheLadyofShalott
Summary: *PART THREE UP* This is the requested sequel for Easy as Life...Sydney hasn't forgotten Vaughn, but does it even matter anymore?
1. Part 1

This is the requested sequel to Easy as Life…sorry it took so long to get out!! But here it is…hope you like it! Please tell me what you think!  
  
A/N: This one's going to be longer than the first, so I'm not going to post it all at once – I have to finish it first! : ) But it will come along quickly, I think, so you won't have to wait long for another chapter.  
  
  
  
  
  
1 Never Forget  
  
  
  
God, she needed a shower. Needed to feel the hot water cascade over her, washing away memories as it washed away the sweat. Today had been especially difficult. She had returned from a hard mission in Egypt, only to be called to Credit Dauphine by Sloane. There, he had informed her that she was to leave tomorrow at dawn for Russia, in order to retrieve a Rambaldi artifact that had just been discovered. The CIA hadn't been too understanding, either. She had screwed up the counter mission in Egypt, and as her new handler, Agent Johnson, had made perfectly clear, they weren't too pleased. He had given her her new counter mission in his odd, abrupt manner, and coldly told her not to mess up this time. She had left blinking back tears – she refused to cry in front of this empty shell of a man. The only time she ever let herself cry anymore was when she was in the shower, where the scalding streams of water could drown her sobs and the sounds they made. She took a lot of showers these days.  
  
Sweat trickled down her temple as she pulled into her driveway. The sight of her home almost made her break down, but she bit her cheek quickly and shook her head. Inside, she made herself unpack and put on a load of laundry for tomorrow before she let herself take a shower. She stepped in quickly, holding her face up to the shower head. Slowly, as the dirt and sweat accumulated in Egypt was washed away, she began to break down. Hot tears mingled with the water on her cheeks as she attempted to wash herself. Finally, she stopped her futile efforts, leaned against the wall, and sobbed. Long ago, she wouldn't have had to do this – she would have had someone who understood. Walking away from Vaughn was the hardest thing she had ever done in her life, and she thought about it every day, constantly remembering the way he looked when she last saw him, the last time he touched her.  
  
Out in the apartment, she heard the door open. Francie was home – she would have to suck it up again and put on the façade that was harder and harder to maintain. She gulped back her tears, finished washing, and dressed herself. She went into the kitchen to find Francie making a late dinner.  
  
"Hey, Francie!" she said with false cheer. Francie looked up, a smiling lighting up her face.  
  
"Hey hon!" she replied, walking over to give Sydney a hug. "How was your trip to Boston?"  
  
"It was okay," Sydney answered, picking up an apple and biting into it. "But I actually have to go back tomorrow – something they thought was finished has to be worked on more."  
  
"Oh, no, Sydney. I swear, that bank's going to be the death of you someday! You really need to learn how to say no every once and awhile." Sydney shrugged, smiling ruefully.  
  
"I guess," she said, sitting down to watch Francie finish making dinner. She wanted to help, but her legs wouldn't hold her up long enough to do anything useful. She was lost in her thoughts when the phone rang. Absently, she picked it up.  
  
"Chinatown Delivery?" a male voice asked. Sydney woke out of her reverie, body tense.  
  
"I'm sorry, you have the wrong number." She was answered by a dial tone.  
  
"Who was that, Joey's Pizza or Chinatown? I swear, it was bad enough with one, but now there's a second. We really need to change our phone number," France rambled from the kitchen. Sydney didn't respond; she was still trying to figure out the CIA's reason for calling when they had already given her her counter mission. The code was Chinatown Delivery now – she wouldn't let them use Joey's Pizza anymore. In her mind, it was connected with seeing Vaughn, and hearing it was too hard to handle. She sighed, shook her head, and stood up slowly.  
  
"Uh, Francie?" she called. "I'm going to go pick up something for my trip tomorrow…I'll be back in time to eat, okay?"  
  
"Sure thing, hon," Francie answered. Sydney left reluctantly and headed to the warehouse.  
  
She hated the warehouse now. It held too many painful memories of a life and a man she could never have. Every time she went there, she heard his voice in her head, felt his arms around her body. The contrast between Vaughn and Agent Johnson was remarkable – but so was the contrast between her work then and her work now. She had thrown herself into it after she stopped working with Vaughn – it was the only thing that kept her mind off him. Two long years had passed since she had last seen him, and she was giving up hope of ever seeing him again. Sloane was very pleased with her, though, and so was the CIA, even though every once and awhile she screwed up a counter mission. While she could care less about what either of them thought, she prayed that every mission helped her to get closer to destroying SD-6. Which, of course, got her closer to seeing Vaughn again.  
  
She blinked and realized that she was at the warehouse. She climbed out of the car and entered the building, listening to her footsteps echo in the empty space. She turned a corner and went through the door of their meeting room. Stopping at the door, she leaned her head against the doorframe, kept her eyes on the floor, not caring enough to look at the man she was talking to.  
  
"Agent Johnson, I fail to see why you felt the need to meet me again. I realize that I failed in Egypt, but I won't fail in Russia. You don't need to go over anything again. I only have one night to be home, and I kinda wanted to spend it at my house." When she didn't get an answer, she continued. "You have no faith in me, do you? Maybe I should have stayed with Vaughn – at least he believed in me. At least he cared!" Her voice rose slightly, "I'm perfectly capable –" She looked up, and her voice caught as she took in the scene before her. Agent Johnson was seated next to the table, doing paperwork, and standing next to him was a man with his back facing Sydney.  
  
"Agent Johnson?" she asked uncertainly. He didn't look up from his work, and she shifted her eyes to the man next to him. Looking him over, she couldn't get over the fact that he seemed oddly familiar. Suddenly, a breath of air wafted past her, carrying a very familiar scent. She took a step forward, and paused, watching anxiously as the man turned around to face her. She gasped.  
  
"Hello, Sydney," Vaughn said quietly.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
There ya go…I'm hoping the ending will make you all review so that I'll update sooner! : ) Evil I know…but please, please review!! I love criticism, praise, I thrive on it! Please tell me what you thought! 


	2. Part 2

She took a slow, deep breath, and blinked a few times to make sure that she wasn't dreaming. No one spoke, and tension hung in the air around them like a hot, sweaty summer night. Agent Johnson had given up the pretense of working and was watching the two of them with blatant interest. Outside, cars whizzed by and an airplane flew noisily overhead. Slowly, she shook her head.  
  
"No," she said, quietly at first, then louder, "No." Johnson raised his eyebrows, and Vaughn's eyes held something unreadable.  
  
"What the hell is going on here?" she exploded. Johnson leaned back in his chair and propped his feet on the table in front of him, looking for all the world like a spectator at a boxing match. Vaughn cleared his throat.  
  
"Sydney. Something came up – we have to talk."  
  
"I'll say something came up! What the hell are you doing here? Trying to wreak havoc on my mind or something? SD-6 isn't gone! You know that; you of all people should know that. What are you doing here?"  
  
"I told you, we have to talk. Now will you listen to me? Come on, Sydney, it's me." Sydney took a deep breath.  
  
"Fine. What do you want?" she said calmly, without emotion.  
  
"Listen carefully. This mission to Russia – it isn't what we thought it was. It seems like a routine mission for a Rambaldi artifact, right?" Sydney nodded.  
  
"Well, it isn't. You'll actually be retrieving top-secret information on the Alliance, hidden inside an old journal bearing resemblance to one of Rambaldi's works."  
  
"The Alliance?"  
  
"Yes. And Syd, I don't have to tell you what that means." Sydney glanced at Johnson, who nodded.  
  
"Oh, God. You mean, this means – it has detailed information on the Alliance? On every member?"  
  
"On every member. The papers belonged to an employee of one of the members. The Alliance needs it back, because it would mean their death should the wrong person get their hands on it."  
  
"Why does this person still have it? How did he get it in the first place?"  
  
"He was a very trusted, high-ranking employee, and he recently died of old age. The information, as I told you, was disguised as a journal, and is now at the house of his daughter, who doesn't know what it really contains. The information is in code – should anyone try to read it, it looks like gibberish." Sydney sank down in the other chair slowly.  
  
"And I'll be holding this journal? It will be in my possession?" After four years of working for SD-6, two of them painfully lacking Vaughn, the concept that this hell could be over was overwhelmingly hard to grasp. She looked down at her hands, which were trembling. She folded them in her lap to cease their nervous motion. Looking back up at Vaughn, she asked quietly, to reassure herself,  
  
"It's over? I photograph this journal, and it's over?" Vaughn nodded, watching her with an odd expression on his face.  
  
"It's over," he said. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small device.  
  
"This is your camera – just get every page on film, okay?"  
  
"I know how to take pictures," she snapped, feeling a bit of her old self return. She shook her head.  
  
"Sorry…sorry. I, it's just, this is so much…I never imagined, you know?" She paused, looking down, and around the room, and finally back at Vaughn. At the face she had thought she would never see again.  
  
"I honestly believed it would never end. I thought…I thought that when I left you, two years ago, it was goodbye. Forever. And now…"  
  
"Yes," he said. "Now." She nodded.  
  
"But there's one thing I don't understand. Why did you come and tell me this? Why didn't they just send Johnson?" Vaughn laughed, an odd sound, that echoed off the cracked cement walls, but a welcome sound.  
  
"Oh, they did just send Johnson. I invited myself along. Do you get it? When you come back from Russia, and come to us with the pictures, you don't have to hide anymore. No more lies, no more secrets. You'll be free. I wanted to be the one to tell you that." Freedom. A concept Sydney didn't think she knew the meaning of anymore. Slowly, she smiled – her first real smile in two years.  
  
"Vaughn…" she whispered, ready to lose herself in the eyes she hadn't seen for too long. Johnson stood up and closed his briefcase with a snap.  
  
"Well," he said briskly. "If we're all done here…" Sydney blinked; she had forgotten he was there.  
  
"Yeah," she said. "I'll see you later then, I guess." Johnson left the room, nodding at the two of them as he passed. Vaughn walked towards the door, pausing next to her. He reached down and brushed her cheek with his hand.  
  
"When you get back, Syd, we'll talk, all right?" She nodded, unable to speak.  
  
"I'll be waiting for you. Be careful, okay?" She nodded again.  
  
"You too," she said, and the memories of countless similar partings filled her head and choked her throat.  
  
"See you soon, Syd," he said, and walked out the door. Sydney remained there for a few moments longer, collecting herself, then followed them out.  
  
  
  
The plane ride to Russia was uneventful, as was the trip to the daughter's house. Though this mission would be extremely easy, as the daughter was unsuspecting and had no guards or high equipment, Dixon had come along to keep watch in the street. Sydney took a deep breath as she left the unmarked white van and headed to the house. She slipped around the back, jimmied the lock on the back door, and turned off the house alarm with one of Marshall's gadgets. Once inside, she looked around to get her bearings. Sloane had told her the journal would be in the office. When she had asked him why a Rambaldi artifact would be in a Russian suburban house, he had shrugged and replied that the woman who owned the house was an archaeologist, and had found the journal in an old church. She kept it in her office, in an attempt to decipher it herself. Sydney headed towards the office now, and let herself in quietly. She paused, listening for noises from the rest of the house, but heard none. She went over to the desk quickly, searching it for the journal. Finally, she found it in a bottom drawer. Pulling it out, she opened it on the desk and took pictures of the pages, flipping them quickly. When she was finished, she closed the journal and put it in her bag. She shut the drawer, but before she could straighten, she heard the sound of a gun being cocked.  
  
"Who are you, and what the hell are you doing here?"  
  
  
  
  
  
Hey again…please tell me what you thought! Praise, criticism, whatever…let me know! More reviews = more updates. 


	3. Part 3

Sydney straightened slowly, raising her hands in the air as she did so. Turning to face her opposer, she breathed a silent sigh of relief when she saw that it was the woman who owned the house, and not a rival spy. The woman, wearing a bathrobe and curlers in her hair, was clutching a gun in her trembling hands.  
  
"I said, who are you, and why are you here?" the woman repeated.  
  
"I'm sorry," Sydney said quietly, moved slightly closer. The woman immediately tightened her grip on the gun.  
  
"Don't move!" she ordered. Sydney nodded.  
  
"I'm sorry, it's just, uh, I, uh, I – oh, hell," she said, giving up on trying to find an excuse for her presence. She grabbed a large, hardcover textbook from the desk and whipped it at the woman, knocking the gun aside and giving herself enough time to cross the room and reach the woman. She kicked the gun out of her hand, and with a few simple moves had the woman sitting on the ground, Sydney in control of the gun. She looked around for something to tie the woman up with, and spotted a scarf crumpled on a chair. She picked it up and quickly tied the woman's hands behind her back.  
  
"Uh, I'm sorry I had to do this. So…yeah. Bye," Sydney grabbed her bag, which had fallen to the ground as she fought the woman, and ran out the door. Closing the back door of the house quietly, she headed around the side. Suddenly, she heard a cold, amused voice purr behind her,  
  
"Sydney, so nice to see you. Thanks for doing all of the hard work for me. I'll take the journal now, though." Sydney froze and spun around. Anna Espinosa was leaning casually against the wall of the house, wearing her trademark smirk. She started slowly for Sydney.  
  
"Really, I must insist that you give it to me." Sydney glanced to her right; she could see the silhouette of Dixon's van mere yards away. She backed up slowly. She was never one to run from a fight, but she knew her entire life depended on this journal. She continued to back up slowly, Anna following her measured steps with corresponding ones of her own.  
  
"Really, darling, you're not running from me – you're a fighter.You're not trying to escape to that lovely white van out in front, are you? Because that won't work, dear. We've already taken care of your partner. It's just you, now. So will you be a good girl and hand over the journal?" Sydney swore under her breath. If they had gotten to Dixon, she would have no way out. Making a split-second decision, she dropped the bag and launched herself at Anna. She saw Anna's pearly white smile a second before she punched her as hard as she could, a right hook she had been working on improving for months. Anna grunted with the impact, momentarily knocked off balance. Sydney followed with a swift side-kick, then whipped herself around and kicked again, sweeping Anna's feet out from under her. Looking around in the few seconds Anna's fall gave her, she spied a large rock in the garden next to the house. She lunged for it, diving and rolling, rebounding quickly with the rock in her hand, and straightened just in time to receive Anna's punch. Her head whipped back, and she almost lost the rock. Regaining her balance, she high-kicked, trying to knock Anna down again. But Anna wouldn't fall for the same trick twice. She dodged the kick and came at Sydney, who ducked and swung with the rock. She felt it connect with Anna's head, a solid thud that ensured Anna wouldn't be bugging her for awhile now. Anna slumped to the ground, and Sydney waited a moment to make sure she was really out, then grabbed her bag. Feeling for the journal, she breathed a sigh of relief when she touched its soft cover. Straightening, she glanced around, searching for any movement in the gray, dusky dawn light. Seeing nothing, she moved carefully forward to the van. Peering inside, she saw that it was empty of everything but seats.  
  
"Shit," she swore quietly. Where the hell could he have gone? Or rather, where had he been taken? She looked around, and still saw nothing, but she decided to get out of the way anyway. She turned, her back against the van, and looked around again, more carefully. Still seeing nothing, she started to inch to the side when she heard a gunshot and saw a hole appear in the van next to her. Looking forward again, she saw three men with guns running towards her. She spun and ran, legs and arms pumping, as bullets began to fly around her. She took the corner of the street at breakneck speed, searching desperately for somewhere to hide. Turning onto another side street, she saw a place. Pushing herself to go faster, she dove into a small alleyway and shouldered her way through the door of an abandoned building. She slammed it behind her and thudded back against the wall to the side of the door, gasping for breath as she waited to see if she had been followed. When several minutes had passed, she took a deep breath and looked around the room. It was dusty and bare, with one doorway. She headed for it, and found herself in another room like the first. Deciding she would find nothing better, she crossed the room, sat, and went through her bag. Finally, she found her CIA communicator, and opened it.  
  
"Vaughn!" she whispered urgently. An answer came back immediately.  
  
"Sydney? What happened? What's wrong?"  
  
"I don't know what happened…I got the journal, but ran into Anna Espinosa. I took care of her, but there were some other men with guns who are after me. They took Dixon…I don't know where he is. I'm sitting in some kind of abandoned building, I don't know where. You have to get me out!"  
  
"Okay. Hold on, we're getting your position." Sydney sat back, relaxing just slightly.  
  
"Got it. We'll have a team in there in two hours to get you out – that's the quickest we can do." Sydney breathed a sigh of relief.  
  
"Thank God – just as long as you get me out of here."  
  
"Be careful, okay? Stay put, don't attract any attention by going close to a window, and don't leave the building." Sydney laughed quietly.  
  
"Vaughn, I'm a spy. I know these things, okay?" She heard him chuckle.  
  
"Yeah, yeah, I know. Just – I'll see you soon, okay?"  
  
"Yeah," she mumbled, her throat closing up suddenly. She shook her head to try and clear it.  
  
"Soon." She clicked off the communicator and shoved it back in the bag. She stretched her arms over her head, and winced as she felt a piercing pain in her side. Looking down, she down a stain on her shirt, next to her stomach.  
  
"Huh?" she murmured, lifting up her shirt. Her face drained as she reached shaking fingers down to touch her skin.  
  
"Oh my God," she whispered, as she touched her wound and her fingers became slippery with blood. She must have been hit before she had turned and ran, but how had she not noticed?  
  
"I must have been too intent on escaping…" she mumbled. She took off her shirt and bunched against the wound, holding it tightly. It quickly became soaked, and she began to realized how serious the wound was. Grabbing the communicator, she flicked it back on.  
  
"Vaughn," she whispered. A few minutes passed before he responded.  
  
"Syd? What's wrong?"  
  
"Vaughn…I was shot. I don't think I'll last two hours." 


End file.
